The Gift Invaluable
by calla lilly rose
Summary: Ponyboy turns fifteen and Darry treats him to a special day. Oneshot. Written in honor of 22 July, 2010.


A/N: All right belong to SE Hinton. Written in honor of S.E. Hinton's birthday, and subsequently Ponyboy's birthday. Ageless and timeless, you are always in my thoughts.

**The Gift Invaluable**

XXX

Another birthday, another milestone. Glancing at him from the side, it seemed he was losing more of his babyish face only to replace the softness of youth with the hardness of age. Not that he'd care... he'd been bugging Soda about shaving for months, this despite not having a single hair on his chin to shave yet. And that was the point, _yet._ He was growing older, and the innocence of his youth was quickly passing into history. I pulled under a shade tree as everyone hopped out and started unloading the truck, shirts and shoes going in every direction.

"Go on, I'll get the grill started. Try not to hurt yourselves out there."

Not that he'd really had much of an innocent youth. Sure, while only turning fifteen today he's still considered young, but tragedy and circumstance had robbed him of the carefree youthful days I remembered having when I was that same age.

"Need a light, Dar?" Soda yelled when he was waist deep. I shook my head, lighting the coals with the lighter I'd found in the glove box.

He was born premature, struggling first to survive just one day at a time, then one week, one month, and then low and behold – he'd managed a year. Mom was overprotective of him … that much I clearly remembered. I used to haul Sodapop everywhere when he was just a small squirt, but heaven help me if Mom let me carry Ponyboy around. He'd managed to survive, now if she'd just let him _live_... but that logic was not something a seven year old brings to his mother concerning his one year old brother.

"Hey Superman!" Steve screeched. "Turn up the radio for us, will ya?" I reached in and turned the knob, grateful the place was nearly deserted. There was another family here, but they had little kids and were way on the other side of the lake by the playground equipment.

Besides, I had discovered football. The only thing I'd wanted to do at that age was kick the ball, run the ball, and catch the ball. Ponyboy... at a mere fourteen pounds, mostly _resembled_ the ball. He was in the way most of the time, and the few times Mom brought him outside, he'd crawl right into the field me and my buddies were playing on. Mom would come tearing out, embarrassing the heck out of me in front of everyone while she scooped up my brother. While I usually groaned about it, Sodapop would always find it funny and laugh. At nearly four, Sodapop found everything funny. He still does.

"YaaaaHoooooo!" Two-Bit bellowed as he swung out over the lake on the rope swing, making a cannonball when he hit the water. I noticed Ponyboy was balanced on the limb to go next and paused to watch as he followed the guys, yelping out a Tarzan scream of his own as he swung wide then let go. He didn't have a thick build like the rest of us, but what he had was well defined; and at times, he was more agile than a cat.

Dad had tried to teach him stuff but if it wasn't musical or artsy, he never got into it. My father may have worked for the Department of Transportation, but he loved carpentry and could build nearly anything if he'd set his mind to it. That didn't interest either of my brothers but I thought it was neat to watch him create stuff with raw materials. Sodapop took no notice, since he was always sneaking off to the tool shed to take something apart when he should have been doing his homework. I was twelve then, Soda eight and Ponyboy six, and by then it just wasn't normal to hang out with your little brothers anyway, especially when the youngest wasn't in first grade yet but could somewhat play the piano. We were all doing our own thing, apart but together.

"Man, this is great," Steve laughed, "but where's all the women?"

His ninth birthday was, at that time, probably his worst. And... it was sort of my fault. I'd had chicken pox when I was seven, but Mom had somehow managed to keep me and Ponyboy apart back then, so he'd not been exposed. These are facts fifteen year old kids don't remember when playing with their infected buddies – one of whom happened to have snuck out his house to play a game of ball and whom I happened to tackle, over and over again. What can I say, the guy was slow.

"Shut up, Steve," Sodapop answered, flipping over the inner tube Steve was floating on. Bubbled curses followed, and I laughed at their antics as I flipped the steaks.

A few days after that game, Ponyboy started acting sick. Dad thought he just was sulking because we weren't going to Grandma's for his birthday like we usually did, but it ended up being something else. Mom couldn't figure out what the devil was wrong with him and frankly, neither could me or Sodapop. Mom sat by his side day and night, worrying herself sick about him while sponging him off with a washcloth and praying the rosary. He'd had a really bad fever, sweat soaking up the bedsheets every night for three nights straight until the pox started coming out. Then it was game on, trying to keep him from scratching.

"Darry, any more beer?"

Mom put socks on his hands while Sodapop and me were on itch detail, reminding him not to scratch when it looked like he was about to. Nothing kills a fifteen year old's spirit on a gorgeous summer day than to have to sit by his nine year old brother's bedside, holding down his sock-covered hands every time he moved. As miserable as I was, he was infinitely worse. He couldn't eat and didn't want anything to do with his birthday, so his party was postponed until he felt better.

"You're on the wagon today, Two-Bit!" I answered. His curse echoed around the lake, even the other family looked up. They started to leave and I gave him a pissed look. "I didn't come here to make trouble, now cool your jets, ya booze hound!"

His tenth birthday was pretty decent. Grandma came out from Independence, Kansas, for the celebration. She'd gotten him a puppy, some yellow cur pup her neighbor'd given her. I remembered the look on Mom's face when Grandma let that pup out of the car, and it wasn't one of joy either. Still, Pony took to that dog like a fish to water and the two of them were inseparable. It grew fast. Within six months that pup had tripled it's size and the only safe place for it was the backyard. Ponyboy had put up a big fuss, wanting the dog to stay indoors with him, but Mom was adamant and for once, he didn't get his way. Dad built the dog a doghouse and everything was back to normal, at least – as normal as things could be for us.

"Race ya to the other side and back!" Ponyboy challenged, and within seconds, he and Sodapop were lost within the churning water.

Dad had to take a big layoff the summer Ponyboy turned eleven. Mom wasn't working, so any loss of pay hit hard. He still had a cake, but this time she'd made it from scratch with borrowed ingredients, and presents were also thinned down. Always into reading, Mom found him some second-hand books she thought he'd like while Dad built him a small bookshelf from scrap wood. He'd devoured the books in no time and usually came to my room bugging me for anything I had. I gave him whatever he'd wanted to read, no matter if the level was above him or not. He didn't care, why should I?

I took the rest of the food out of the cooler and set it on the picnic table; potato salad, chips, and watermelon. I left the cola's in the cooler and checked the steaks once more.

Being eleven meant he was also a little wiser in the way the world worked, but age didn't make it any easier when difficult choices had to be made. That layoff was hurting us bad, to the point that Dad took a part time job working on some cow farm in the country. He took any odd job he could find just to help make ends meet, and sometimes we'd go days without seeing him. Sacrifices had to be made by everybody and we all made them - even Ponyboy, albeit unwillingly.

"Food's ready," I called. Steve and two-Bit dragged themselves out and toweled off, but scanning the water, I only saw Sodapop churning his way back. "Where's Ponyboy?"

A few months after his birthday, the dog disappeared. Ponyboy thought it'd run off down the street to where some female dogs were in heat, but the truth was a bit harder for him to take. We simply couldn't afford to keep feeding it anymore. Tears ran down my brother's face as Dad gripped Ponyboy firmly by the arms and was told to knock off the waterworks; saying he'd given the dog to a man who had plenty of acres for it to run around on and that the dog would be happier in open fields rather than cooped up in our small yard. To this day, I'm not sure Pony believed him. He's never asked for another dog since.

Lunch was forgotten as the three of us stood there, scanning the water for any sign. Soda popped up, smiling at first then saw our expressions and frowned, turning to look in the distance behind him. "He was right with me, where'd he go?"

His thirteenth year was also a turning point in his life. Mom was overjoyed when a letter came that summer from the school board, saying Ponyboy had tested out of his grade and that it was in his best academic interests to skip seventh and go straight into eighth.

My insides squeezed when another couple seconds ticked away and he still hadn't come up. I stepped out into the water; shoes, shirt and everything, ready to dive in to search for him before it was too late - when he suddenly broke the surface not three yards out, smiling ear to ear and sputtering with excitement … "Look what I found!"

Ponyboy jumped at the idea, knowing it put him that much closer to being in classes with Sodapop over in the high school. I had already graduated so it didn't matter to me, but I had my reservations about it. He might soak up knowledge like a sponge, but he physically wasn't ready to go up a grade. Because of his prematurity, he physically lagged many months behind the kids he was already classed with. But Mom and Dad wouldn't listen to me, and Pony was too excited at the prospect of being in classes with Sodapop to listen either. So ready or not, up he went.

"Saw it glittering on the bottom of the lake. I was ahead of Soda, but didn't think I'd be able to find it again, so I dove to get it." In his hand was a ladies ring, a big fat diamond in the center with several smaller diamonds around it.

That was also the last birthday he would have with our parents. Soda would get to have his sixteenth birthday with them too, but they would be gone two weeks before I turned twenty.

"Think it's real, Darry?" he asked, his emerald eyes shining just as brightly as the stones in the setting.

Adjusting to life without our parents was harder than I thought or ever gave them credit for. They'd made it look so simple, but it was more a struggle than I'd ever imagined. Paying bills meant more than just working to bring home a check. I had to balance needs with wants, and figure out which need we could do without for a while longer. Usually I took the sacrifice, making sure the guys had whatever they needed before splurging on myself. I understood better all the times Mom would sew up holes in our clothes or turn leftovers into casseroles that Dad took to work because none of us would touch it. I figured as long as my brothers had clean clothes to wear, food to eat and a bed to sleep in, I was at least breaking even. And when the leftovers piled up, I could always count on Sodapop to make it interesting.

The painful throb in my chest settled as I grabbed his arm and pulled him out. Damn, how many times can I almost lose him before my luck runs out? My feet squished inside my now-ruined tennis shoes, making sucking noises with every step as we walked back to the truck. He kept flipping the ring over and over in his hand until I took it away for a closer look.

His fourteenth birthday was celebrated at home last year, with Soda baking him a cake while I bought pizza from the Pizza Parlor. It was a subdued affair and we'd ended up just playing football with the guys, two of whom aren't here anymore. The loss of Johnny and Dallas still haunts him, even I'm not blind to that. He still wakes from nightmares and his headaches often leave him in a searing pain for hours, but he rarely complains about it. He's trying, it's all I can ask.

"Dunno, Ponyboy. Looks authentic, but won't know for sure unless we take it to a jeweler. It hasn't corroded or tarnished, so that's a good sign that it's probably real." I handed it back only to have Sodapop snatch it next. He and Steve were discussing various ways to test it's authenticity, several of which involved glass cutting. I took it back and handed it to Ponyboy again, who shoved it in his pocket where I hoped it would be safe.

This year, I thought it would be best if we got away from the house. I'd wanted to go camping but once again, money was too tight for that. So yesterday I bought steaks and marinated them overnight while Sodapop and Steve baked Ponyboy's cake. Two-Bit kept him out of the way by taking him to the movies to see _The Pink Panther,_ and I guess he liked it since it took him all night to shut up about it.

"I'll put it in my box once we get home. It'd be neat if it was worth a cool grand or two, huh Darry?"

He knew we were planning something for him; dumb - he ain't, but didn't know what was up until I pulled up at the park. The smile on his face said he approved, and that was all I needed. I couldn't give him much, but I could give him a day. One day when he didn't have to worry about anything and just enjoy being who he is. A kid. Fifteen, perhaps... but still a kid. Next year he might be shaving, a foot taller and dating. God help me with that last one.

I grinned back. "Yeah, little buddy. That'd be the find of the decade. Just don't lose it."

"Happy birthday, Ponyboy," Soda said, nudging him as we all sat down to eat.

"Yeah, kid. Happy birthday."

XXX

Calla Lily Rose

22 July 2010


End file.
